


Free to be

by cozy_downpour



Category: NWSL - Fandom, USWNT - Fandom, woso
Genre: Comfort, F/F, finding yourself fic, self discovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25586608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cozy_downpour/pseuds/cozy_downpour
Summary: A look into how Tobin spearheads why Re is a GNC brand.
Relationships: Preath - Relationship, Tobin/christen, christen/tobin
Comments: 18
Kudos: 192





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in my drafts since around May or so. I wanted to explore Tobin & gender & such. Please give me feedback & let me know if I got anything considerably wrong. As always my tumblr is cozydownpour & asks are on

“So you think streetwear for women will take off?” Tobin asks with a yawn as she curls up against her girlfriend’s side in their Portland apartment bedroom. The brunette beside her lets out a giggle, her grey-green eyes wide in amazement. 

“Oh it won’t just take off...it’ll be the hottest new thing to hit the web shelves. Everyone who’s anyone will want it, and for once you won’t be side-eyed for having to search for men’s clothes.” She adds with a nose crinkle, playfully so but Tobin’s heart freezes for a moment. She can’t tell why, no pinpoint on the origins of the feeling so she rolls over onto her side of the bed—ready for a fitful sleep instead.

_ Searching for men’s clothes. _

They’re discussing the latest idea of their own personal brand, Re, and the venture out into the world of fashion. As a lifestyle brand, it felt easier to choose something they each wanted to fix in their lives. Unanimously they all decided at dinner after a shopping trip that it was streetwear. After hours of Megan whining that her hips were too big for the pair of joggers she wanted (but if she were to go larger than an xs in men they would be too long), that Meghan was too short for frankly any kind of streetwear pants, and Tobin and Christen both finding the designs of shirts they wanted in size smalls that left them both swimming— it was so clear. Make streetwear clothing for  _ women’s bodies _ . 

Tobin however was hesitant to voice her dissent. She initially agreed with Christen who had decided that this was the very thing they were solving, a lack of women in streetwear. But she couldn’t fully agree that it should be a line for women‘s bodies. Something felt off about it. 

Her sleep is fitful to say the least. Tossing and turning until the next morning. Tobin wakes up to Christen already awake and practicing yoga out in their living room as the sun rises over the Pacific Northwest. She makes herself a cup of coffee and retreats to the balcony where she writes her daily prayers, reads the Bible, and then reads from her book of the month. 

Christen walks out onto the balcony almost an hour later. By now Tobin’s coffee had gone cold and her glasses were falling down her face as she tried to focus on the book in her hand. The harsh wind picks up, sending Tobin’s flimsy journal across the balcony towards Christen. 

“ _ Why do I not want this? Is it my own discomfort with femininity or is it something deeper— _ ” Christen quietly reads off the sloppy print on the page, her brows rising as she takes a moment to realize what Tobin’s writing about. The older woman snatched the journal from her hands. 

“Hey!” Tobin huffs, her glasses still on the bridge of her nose, and her lower lip curled into a pout. “Chris!”

“Sorry I read it. I just saw it and picked it up on that page, Tobes...You know you can talk to me right?” Christen says slowly, not wanting to spark up any more anger on Tobin’s part. The midfielder sighs, shaking her head. 

“We tell each other almost everything, and I love that but Chris I-I need a space of my own sometimes okay. It’s just thoughts.” Tobin says as she picks up her coffee mug and goes to wash it out. “I promise I’ll talk to you about my feelings if I need to.”

Christen follows her, trying to keep a distance. She could tell that she upset Tobin and it hurt but not as much as it would hurt if she stepped over her boundaries just now. 

“I have a meeting with Jessica in an hour, I’ll be in our office.” She says gently, her hand on Tobin’s shoulder squeezing once before she walked into their small office area. 

Tobin gruffly heads back to their bedroom, sitting on the bed with the journal in her hands. She knows Christen did not mean to read it out loud. She also knew that Christen thought it was mostly filled with her daily scripture thoughts. But a piece of her felt violated, she didn’t know how much Christen had read.  _ Did she see the part about Re and womanhood? _

She desperately wanted to give Christen what she had designed and developed for Re but would it be authentically them if she did? 




“You know Tobes, we’re just waiting on you for the final tweaks,” Megan says over the phone gently, but Tobin snaps. 

“Well, you’re going to have to keep waiting.” She snipes, clenching her jaw as she rests the phone between her ear and shoulder. Megan on the other side of the phone was pinching the bridge of her nose. She hated dealing with ornery Tobin. The girl was stubborn when her mind was set. Honestly, Megan learned more about raising teenagers while on the National team than being one herself. 

“What does that mean?” She asks, waiting for some smart answer. Tobin mulls on it, shaking her head. 

“It means I don’t want it to be a women’s line.” Tobin voices quietly, hoping Christen doesn’t overhear from the living room. Megan takes a deep breath, fighting the litany of swears on her tongue. 

“But Tobin, that’s the whole point. We buy men’s streetwear because ours doesn’t exist. Why make more menswear? I would kill someone if I had to stalk through a men's section for some joggers you know…” Megan starts a small ramble but then asks Tobin why.

The brunette pauses, fiddling with the pencil between her fingers. She doesn’t know how to explain the feeling in her gut about a women’s line. Honestly, she wanted to pull her hair out thinking about it all. 

“I’ve never had an issue with the men’s section.” She says it quietly, her throat constricting around the words as her heart vomited them up. Tobin starts to sweat, creasing her brow at the silence from Megan. Megan who was sharp and witty, and had a mind like dynamite. 

Megan who was definitely putting the pieces together. 

“I mean yeah we shop there all the time, but if they offered the same style options in women’s wouldn’t you be incited to shop there instead?” She asks without a hint of frustration or anger in it. One of the best parts of being friends with Megan is how purely caring she is. Empathetic. She notices the little things. 

“That’s the thing P, I don’t like deciding and you know that. I just,” Tobin pauses, hanging her head in her hands for a moment. She starts tapping her leg and bites her tongue. 

“Tobs, it’s okay. I’m listening to you, ya know? Take your time. But if you really don’t want women’s wear...we’ll figure it out.” Megan eases over the phone, hearing Tobin’s fidgeting over the speaker. “We don’t even have to gender it all, honestly. I’ll talk later Tobito, Sue is dragging me to the gym. Love ya kid.” 

-

“What was that all about babe?” Sue asks Megan as they change into workout gear at home before going to the gym. 

“Hmm? Oh, Tobin??! Nah just work stuff I think,” Megan rambles with a shoe tongue between her teeth as she works out a kink in the laces. Sue tries not to giggle at the image of her pink-haired girlfriend struggling. 

“You think? I dunno P, you seemed really soft with her honestly like something deep was happening. I didn’t wanna interrupt that. What’s she hung up on the collection?” She asks, crossing her arms and leaning against the closet door. Megan takes a breath, getting up to hug Sue gently. 

“I’m still trying to figure that one out, but she’s opposed to it being women’s wear. Finds it limiting, which I get but she is fighting men’s limitations with it. She just was so against it, and I can't place it you know?” Megan sighs and leans into Sue’s arms, the true sign of exhaustion crawled across her face.

“Would it be so strange if she wanted a unisex clothing brand?” Sue asks, running a hand through Megan’s hair. The younger woman shrugged. 

“Who the hell knows what Toby was thinking. It’s just how she is. She’s not a master of communication but she usually can figure out how to tell us what she feels. If it’s what’s in her gut, how bad can it be?” Megan explained. The pair leave for the gym and let Tobin’s concerns fade away for the rest of the day. The line could wait until work hours began again. 

-

“I don’t know what to do.” 

Christen is pacing back and forth in their Portland home with Meghan on facetime about having seen Tobin’s journals about the brand. 

“Oh and I absolutely should not be telling you this. But I don’t know, Kling. She was writing about discomfort in femininity and she’s asking us not to make a women’s line? Why isn’t she talking to me about these feelings? If anyone understands being insecure it’s me.” Christen rambles for a moment, trying to let out the feelings she’s been keeping bottled up. Tobin was out at a Thorns youth academy graduation day, leaving Christen to work on Re most of the day. 

Meghan sighs audibly over video, shaking her head. “Press...You read this by accident. If Tobs wants to talk to you about it, she will. I know I know she’s kind of the worst at that but it’s personal you know? I know it doesn’t seem like it should be. You’re together and have been solid for years, you think you know all of Tobin but sometimes you just don’t.” The pint-sized player points out, reminding Christen. “Like when she casually mentioned a girlfriend after coming back from Paris it was out of left field man. I’ve known her since she had braces and she was always mysterious.” 

Christen sighs as she finally sits down on their balcony chair, looking across at the Portland skyline. Maybe Kling was right in leaving space for Tobin to come to her. 

“I think what’s bothering me the most was I couldn’t read it all before she took it back. And I am not going to go snooping to find it. I respect her, a lot.” Christen thinks out loud, her eyes looking around their living room and focusing on a photo of them. It was a tiny one in a frame because “ _ I’m not letting you thumbtack it to the wall Tobin _ '' was a phrase that came out of her mouth. Cindy took a photo of them when they were in LA for Tobin’s ankle surgery. They’re watching a rainstorm cloud over the beach, and Christen remembers it being freezing but Tobin argued that’s what she wanted to spend her few days doing with Megan, Sue, and Ashlyn. Tobin loves the ocean, and it loves her back. 

“See. It’s curiosity killing the cat. I’m telling you, Chris, let Tobin bring it to you. Don’t let her feel caged up and have to expose herself to you. We’ll release this line once she makes her choice, and she’s our creative designer for a reason.” Meghan tries to reassure Christen. They say their goodbyes and Christen lays her phone down, taking a deep breath. 

She has just enough time to do a 7 breath count before Tobin walks through their door. She’s carrying her drawstring bag, and a white SnapBack on her head of wet hair—post locker room shower at Providence Park. 

“Hi my love,” Christen croons from the couch, attempting a smile at her mysterious if not lovable girlfriend. 

“Hey,” Tobin manages, her hands in the pockets of her basketball shorts. “Sorry I was a little late. The kids wore me out! And I showered at the stadium.”

“It’s fine I was having a chat with Kling about moving forward. Just business stuff.” Christen replied while getting up off the couch. She pulls the hat off of Tobin’s head, pressing a kiss to her forehead and placing the hat on the side table in the front hall. 

“Ah, business stuff. So smart, so formal.” Tobin chuckles, looping an arm around Christen’s waist. “I missed being with you. You know Mark’s offer is still open. Thorns youth academy at any time. Just show up, it’s no big deal. I kind of like doing it more than I expected to, I guess.” 

Christen leads them to the kitchen, letting Tobin pull out things from the cabinets to decide on what to eat. They settle on rice and chicken breast stuffed with spinach and some mozzarella and pesto. Tobin prepares the rice while she sits on the countertop, stirring the pot ever so often. 

“Tobin, baby…” Christen pauses as she chops extra spinach for a side salad. “We need to talk business tonight, okay?” 

Tobin drops the spoon onto the counter, immediately making Christen’s heart rate spike at the mess & lack of use of the ceramic holder right next to it. 

“This is about the line...I have everything drafted I’ll just agree and we can all move on.” Tobin says, sliding off the countertop and to the floor. She lets the rice simmer while Christen places her hands on her shoulders. 

Kind green eyes find brown, and Tobin sinks down into the ball of her heels. 

“No. You aren’t going to settle to get out of telling me why you’re upset.” Christen says firmly, pulling Tobin into a hug. “And don’t lie. None of us are upset you disagree but you won’t follow up on it. So how are we supposed to know the why Tobes?”

Tobin shuffles in her arms, swallowing roughly at the discussion. “Because I don’t even know how to explain it. I don’t want women’s clothes. Because I like how it feels when I can walk in the men’s section for just my clothes. Chris, what do I even own from the women’s section beside a bra?” 

Christen steps back at the statement, her brows furrowing at her girlfriend in front of her. Now that Tobin had said it, she couldn’t argue. The tee she wore was a men’s small from supreme. Her shorts were Nike men’s basketball, and her SnapBack was from a men’s collection. 

“You really don’t own much…” Christen says quietly to affirm Tobin’s voiced feelings and let her continue. The brunette shrugged her shoulders as she spoke. 

“I know what you’re all doing, and why you’ve gone this route but I thought that’s why Alex left because everything wasn’t pink and shiny girl power enough for her—but see Chris, that’s the thing Re is bigger than girl power,” Tobin says. Her eyes are wide and almost glistening with emotion, she still doesn’t have the words for it all. 

“We want to challenge the status quo.” Christen murmurs in agreement.

“Yeah, we do. And that starts with us not stepping into another label and trying to uh reframe it? I don’t want to make women’s wear look like mens. Like I don’t even feel attached to the whole men’s label which is why I want to make Re.” The midfielder explains, her hand going to fiddle with the corner of the countertop eyes scared to meet Christen’s. She’s not afraid of her, of course not, but she is anxious about the reception of her ideas. Of saying her feelings correctly. Communicating traditionally was never her strong suit, she learned that in college real fast. 

“Your journal-”

“What about it Chris?” Tobin asks her firmly. She was still upset over her reading it. Things she wrote were just not ready for her to hear yet. To formulate. 

“Oh Tobin,” Christen stepped back towards her, cupping her girlfriend’s face in her left hand. She rubs at the delicate, weathered skin of her cheek. “Your writing wasn’t mine to read but I did anyway. Just that one page. Could you try to tell me why you don’t like femininity?” 

Tobin clasps her hand over Christen’s but is rudely interrupted by the timer going off signaling the rice being ready and their chicken is done. 

“Let’s hold on that,” Christen says as she helps Tobin finish preparing the rest of their diner. They sit down at the table across from each other. Small talk about the meal and the weather. 

Christen decides to let the question fall back into her mind for the night. It’s clear to her that Tobin went through enough just accepting and understanding why she was so adamant against a women’s wear line. And honestly? She couldn’t argue with Tobin. It was restricting for her to choose another label to change from within. Re is to make change. 

Later they crawl into bed, Tobin laying her head on Christen’s chest as she reads a book. Christen takes every few pages to run her right hand through Tobin’s long hair, scratching at her scalp gently lulling her to sleep. She takes note of Tobin and how she changed into an old sleep shirt and boxers. Christen had never thought twice about her girlfriend’s underwear before. Most of the time when she did think about it, it ended on the floor before much more was thought. 

Most girls had boyshorts they wore at night, or even boxer briefs Christen had some herself. But Tobin wore actual men’s boxers. She had her favorite supreme set and her gray calvins that matched her bra but were still men’s boxers. Tonight she wore a basic set of Hanes boxers in a men’s xs that hugged her hips just right. 

She hated wearing women’s underwear during fancy events, always complaining about it. Christen never really put it together. And why should she? Tobin was always so sure of herself. It didn’t make a difference in her as a person but Christen was starting to realize it made a difference within Tobin. 

Christen leaned over, kissing Tobin’s forehead and murmuring a soft promise “I will let you be yourself. Always.”

  * [2 Weeks Later]



“I love these days! Yo Tobs you gotta get your girl in the big PTFC so we can kick her ass too!” Megan chuckles in the early morning light as she and Tobin meet for pregame coffee out in the city. They stroll into the usual sort of hipster local coffee shop you can find on any street in Portland where Kling sat at a table with a few other Thorns. 

Tobin gives a brief laugh at Pinoe’s comment, her heart sinking for a moment as she thinks about her girlfriend states away in Utah for the season. What she wouldn’t do to have Christen by her side right now ordering a cozy chai latte as the seasons change and she bundles up more than the average Oregonian. 

“Hot and black.” Tobin orders to Pinoe’s disgust. The pink-haired woman ordered herself an iced latte with two pumps of vanilla syrup and a splash of sugar. Her nose is still crinkled as Tobin picks up the cup from the bar before adding two teaspoons of cream and sugar to her otherwise bitter concoction. 

“If you’re gonna cut it with cream and sugar just go all out and order a latte Tobs. I swear,” Pinoe grumbles as she fixes the lid on her latte and swirls the syrup around with her reusable straw. “Seriously? A Black coffee,”

Tobin rolls her eyes at Pinoe as she slides into their group table. “Shut up, it reminds me of my mom’s coffee I used to drink before school.” She states under her breath as the group starts conversing. 

Lindsey turns to her first out of everyone, sweeping her blonde hair out of her face with her pink pre-wrap. “So is it true you, Kling and Press are making a company?” She asks between sips from her iced latte. Tobin’s cheeks flush, not used to having something like this to be proud of. She rubs the back of her neck. 

“With Pinoe yeah. Re-imagine incorporated but I think Chris just wants it to be Re-Inc. Lifestyle brand but we’re starting in streetwear, well I hope we are. Things are still being worked out I think,” Tobin takes a moment to sip her coffee, trying not to focus on Lindsey’s prying eyes. 

“You know you’re whipped when you’re making a whole company with your girlfriend, right?” Lindsey chuckles, reaching over to mess with Tobin. 

“Hey! Hey! Hot liquids here Linds!” The midfielder yelped, trying to make sure her coffee didn’t slosh over the side of the container. Laughter rang out around the table. 

“Streetwear is totally in right now, have you seen Mal lately? Dressed head to toe in the latest. I just want something I can lounge in and still wear respectfully while grocery shopping you know?” Lindsey says as she fiddles with her straw. Tobin nods in agreement. 

“Picture? Please?” 

A pair of warm brown eyes broke into Tobin’s eye line. What appeared to be a little child with textured braids with a soccer ball pair of hair ballies who couldn’t have been older than 7 fumbled with their parent’s cellphone. Tobin leaned down, reaching for her hand. 

“Hi, what’s your name?” She asks as Lindsey scans the space seeing the child’s father just a few feet away sipping his coffee to go.

“My name is Matthew.” They say, head held high—

“McKayla what have we talked about?” The father intervenes, picking up the phone. “I’m sorry about all of that. She's at this stage playing pretend— she loves watching the Thorns and the National team, can I get a photo of you with her?”

Megan’s slid out of her chair, her hand now on the child’s shoulder. “You go by Matthew?” She asks kindly, watching the child’s eyes widen. They nod their head, the soccer ballies clinking together. The father exhales through his nose heavily. 

“You don’t have to humble her.” He states to Rapinoe who looks him up and down with a scowl. 

“Excuse me,” The pink-haired lesbian exerts with force. “I don’t think that I was addressing you, I was addressing Matthew.” She says watching the man recoil. He starts to pull his child with him out of the coffee shop but Matthew stays put. Tobin watches the entire situation unfold, and quickly scrambles to her feet. Matthew looks back at her, eyes widening slightly overwhelmed by it all. 

“Hey Matt, here is a signed receipt. You take that to the ticket office and I’ve got a note on it for them. One night, free tickets to a Thorns match field side. All on me kiddo.” Tobin says suddenly as her left-hand scribbles the note. She couldn’t let Matthew come out of this with nothing. 

“Really?!” Matthew squeals, waving their arms up and down. 

“Really dude!” Tobin hands the receipt over to them, watching them try to read it. Didn’t matter much as she took a covert photo of the child and father to let the ticketing office know that they were VIP for her party. The receipt was a parting gift. “You’re so strong Matthew, and you deserve joy. In any way, you can.” Tobin adds softly. 

Her heart was aching for this child, watching a father deny them happiness over his own comfort. They end up leaving the coffee shop in a stagnated amount of time, to avoid running into the man again. On the curb of the shop, Tobin turns to Pinoe who was digging in her fanny pack for a pair of sunglasses. 

“How did you know P?” She asks almost nervously, “about the kid and the father? You just knew…” 

Megan laughs wildly for a moment, throwing her arm around Tobin’s shoulder. “It was clear as day. Seriously though. They came up to us and they were clear about their name, dad is scared of what that means for his child. And it’s sad, honestly. As a Black trans kid isn’t the safest around, so if I can at least give them peace by using their name then I’ll do that.”

Tobin nods, “Imagine being so sure of who you are so young,” She says as they start walking towards Providence park. Tobin looks down at her feet, kicking some rocks around as she feels herself growing sad. A young child knew who they were and owned it, fighting against anyone who doubted them while she...still isn’t quite sure of anything anymore. 

Pinoe pauses, turning around to face Tobin. She crosses her arms. “Nope. No. None of that mopey shit Tobs. I didn’t know who I was until college. You were a late bloomer just like me. It’s okay to take time, isn’t it all a part of your sky dude’s plan?” 

Tobin flinches at Pinoe’s words. She knew it was her way of helping, and normally would not be an issue but today Tobin feels sensitive. She is also frustrated this conversation is happening on a public street. 

“I don’t want a plan that has me second-guessing my want for men’s clothing, the way I hate bras, my boyish hips, and why I can’t stand the fact that I feel uncomfortable in my own body at 31 years old!” Tobin snaps, nostrils flared and fists clenching. Megan reaches out for a fist, slowly unfurling it. She guides Tobin calmly to a bench, trying to avoid some match day points and shouts “It’s Megan Rapinoe!” “Nutmeg queen Heath!” from fans. 

“Hey, is everything okay up here?” Megan teases, tapping Tobin’s temple as she takes deep, heavy breaths.  _ In and out, in and out _ . A rough chuckle comes out from Tobin’s throat, and she shakes her head. 

“It hasn’t been okay for a while P.” She reveals, eyes focused on a group of siblings playing a game of soccer in the parking lot across from the stadium. A matchday staple. Tobin’s eyes get caught up in watching the roughed around ball passed back and forth between the children. It was almost like it glided on the asphalt, darting into the mini net. It reminds her of playing in the street while watching the ‘99 World Cup. 

“Are you ready to talk more about it? Or bottle it up some more, cause you know I could ship it to Utah—” 

“Chris doesn’t need this—” Tobin gestures roughly at herself. Her shoulders hunch over as she rests her chin on her palms as she leans down on her knees. Megan sees her friend quickly spiraling and isn’t sure this public bench before a game really was the place to do so. 

“Tobin. Listen, I can’t give you the best pep talk right now cause of all the kids running around nearby. But ahem, you are not broken. And Christen doesn’t want to fix what isn’t broken you know?” Pinoe urges, trying to find a route that wouldn’t upset Tobin further. “And these feelings are normal. They may even mean things about your identity, beyond how gay you are. You aren’t crazy. And no one loves their body. Not even me—”

“That’s bullshit Pinoe, look at your abs,” Tobin argues, feeling self-loathing at the moment. Brown eyes widen and Pinoe answers in a heartbeat. 

“My abs distract from my flabby arms and my thick thighs. Tobs, I promise you we’re all athletes, our bodies are just—”

“It’s not like that. I just feel like I don’t belong in mine. Or like I do but not all the time.” Tobin interjects again, holding her head in her hands. It’s a brisk day but still warm, Tobin feeling her forehead sweating while on the bench. “Whatever it’s stupid.” She gets up from the bench and walks towards the side entrance for Providence Park. Megan debates on following her, needing to suit up for the game herself but she pauses and lets Tobin go. The funk was clearly not a one-time thing and Pinoe knew that. 

They go on to play the game, Seattle winning 2-1 with a late goal after the half. Tobin shakes Megan’s hand, her anger visibly faded into sadness. She embraces the younger woman, rubbing her back softly. “We have an early flight out tomorrow, so I’m gonna drop by tonight to visit and check-in before I head to the hotel.”

“Thanks, P,” Tobin mumbles, pulling back and heading to receive the roses from the riveters. Even during a loss they still honored them. Tobin caught the rose in her hands and watched a petal fall off. Roses are so beautiful and equally dangerous. Just like herself. 

The Thorns eventually trail back into their locker room, jerseys flung off of bodies and into a dry cleaners hamper where they’d be cleaned before the next game day. Sonnett is trying to get Lindsey to laugh after the loss, smacking her with a balled-up jersey while she goes to her locker. Tobin heads to change in the showers, stripping off her jersey once she is already in the stall. Her mind starts wandering as the warm water covers her exhausted body. Tobin knows she should probably be taking an ice bath instead but doesn’t complain when her shoulders start to drop down from their perpetual state. 

She pours a handful of body wash in her hand, lathering up and washing away the layers of dirt and sweat. Her hands are up and down her muscular legs, feeling the muscles swell as she flexes. She thinks about the years of dedication and effort she’s put into her work. The days where she put off going to a friend’s house to train. The days she changed into her running shorts in the back of the car after church. She’s not known a time where her calves weren’t so large. 

Tobin moves higher, making sure she rinses her abs. They’re chiseled enough to be defined, hard planes of muscle divots in the skin of her stomach. She never could quite get a six-pack. Tobin knows to have standards and ideals for bodies are wrong- especially as an athlete but she also knows she holds no expectations for anyone’s body but her own. She remembers when puberty hit and the muscles she grew suddenly had faded away, taken over by fatty tissue. Not to mention the pain of growing breasts. 

She’s lucky, she knows that it could be worse, they could be larger. Especially during puberty, they were until she slimmed down again. 

“Tobin?” 

The brunette is torn from her thoughts mid conditioner rinse as she hears Lindsey call for her. 

“Third stall. What’s up?” Tobin responds, doing a second round of soap. 90 minutes of play on turf was ugly. 

“Mmm a lot is up. A lot. Like please don’t hate me, but I saw you talk to Pinoe this morning—”

“And?” Tobin interjected, turning off the shower and reaching for her towel. Lindsey chucked it at her. 

“Don’t bite my head off for caring. Tobes you know better. We talk about things, even when it hurts. It looked, rough dude.” She says firmly, causing Tobin to do a double-take. Confident Lindsey was something she still was growing fond of. 

“I just—I haven’t been feeling myself lately.” Tobin says halfheartedly. She doesn’t think about trying to explain it to Lindsey, knowing that Pinoe was really the only person she dared to let her behind the walls she’s built. 

“We all have off days, I just hate seeing you get in your head. Antisocial Toby isn’t my favorite dude,” Lindsey teases, turning around to face the wall so Tobin can pull on a bra and underwear quickly. 

“I do not get antisocial,” Tobin argues, smacking Lindsey with her towel before throwing it in the linen wash. 

Lindsey pauses, turning to face her friend. Her mentor. A memory of Paris pauses in her mind, during a rough bump with Tobin’s relationship with Shirley. All she can see is the older woman just from a few years back, living in a space of numbness. 

Lindsey remembers coming home from practice in the afternoon and Tobin napping until dinner, eating a measly helping of whatever they found visually appealing premade at a corner market that week since they hardly spoke french, and then going to bed. She becomes a shell of herself when she’s upset. Yet Lindsey hardly remembers Tobin crying. Herself? Many times. Tobin never cried unless it was at a movie she had forced her to watch. She just became empty. 

Lindsey has seen Tobin put up barriers around herself, and she knows better than to let her continue. 

“Okay T, but seriously if you need to talk just text and I’ll come running.” She smiles, holding out her pinky and watches as Tobin’s face lights up at the chance to fill the promise. Her eyes are brighter, her smile larger. 

The pair head out together, walking the short distance from the park to their apartment complex. They part at the elevator, floors apart, and Tobin comes home to an empty apartment. 

Christen left for Utah last week and Tobin had to admit the apartment already felt empty without her in it. She slugs her athletic bag over the chair in the corner of her room, sitting back on her bed and taking a deep breath. Her moment of silence was quickly interrupted by Pinoe arriving and knocking on the apartment door. 

“Lemme in!”

Tobin snaps up, kicking off her slides and running to the door before Megan can make any more of a commotion. She opens the door to find the pink-haired woman holding a 6 pack of her favorite craft beer, brows raised. 

“Oh dude you didn’t have to—”

“Pshh Tobs, it’s time to get shit faced and talk. Just you and me, it’s been a while ya know?” Pinoe says as she waltzes in the door, immediately pulling a beer out. She cracks it open in record time, using Tobin’s favorite orange bottle opener. Tobin follows her to the kitchen, sighing and pulling a beer out too.

“Do I put up walls?” She asks, taking a swig, and sitting at her kitchen table, head in her hands. Megan blinks, looking shocked at Tobin’s immediate dive into the deep talk. She settles down on the chair, straddling the sides and leaning over the back. 

“Do you want the truth or the sugar-coated kind kid?” Tobin lets out a dry laugh at Megan’s question, shaking her head. She flicks the tv on for some background noise, a premiere league game repeat on low. 

“Hit me with your best shot P. You’ve got only two beers worth to crack me open like a faulty peanut shell with no nut,” Tobin replies dryly, clinking their beers together. They both couldn’t go all out while in the season but just a few beers wouldn’t hurt considering they burned so many calories in training. 

Megan’s eyes are on the tv and she licks her lips, trying to put together what she wanted to say to Tobin in her head. Gently she reaches for her hand, brown eyes soft turning back to face her. 

“I’ve known you a long time Tobin...I remember HAO introducing me to this mousey little kid from Jersey and you wouldn’t even hug me for weeks. She told me that you were quiet but your skills spoke for you, and she was never wrong. You guard yourself, but why shouldn’t you?” Megan recounts, picturing the day she met Tobin in her mind.

_ It was a cold night at training camp in January before the Algarve cup where Megan had returned to the team after a few injuries. Day one had been brutal, pushing the team to see where their mentality was weakest and she remembers Tobin being absolutely on her best behavior, not even a whine about the awful drills.  _

_ “Pinoe, this is Tobin. She’s my protégé from Jersey and if you mess with her I will kill you.” HAO says sternly, looking down at Megan who sat at the table in the dining room.  _

_ “Nice to meet ya, Toby.” Megan teases immediately, seeing Tobin’s cheeks grow red.  _

_ “I—uh—um— just Tobin is fine.” She says, shaking from nerves. Reserved and shy, day one. “You nailed some great crosses in training today.”  _

_ Megan ruffles her hair, grinning. “You weren’t so bad yourself kid, watching those cheeky ‘megs _ .”  _ She watched as Tobin blushed, shrugging at the praise. HAO sighed, rubbing Tobin’s back affectionately before the younger girl headed off to grab a water bottle.  _

_ “She’s shy but it’ll be knocked out of her soon enough,” HAO says, watching Tobin sink to untie her cleats. “She’s like crazy high on soccer IQ, skipped a whole year range of PDA she was like 9 with me when I was on my 13 team. I kinda took her under my wing when I could.”  _

Megan recalls Tobin hugging her after a scrimmage at the end of camp, and that’s when the walls started to come down. After that, she learned how the girl loved a bit of sour gummy candy after a game, or how she hated shoes and could dribble her way around any town she wanted to.

“So that’s a yes?” Tobin says with a scoff and a chug. Megan shakes her head, pink hair swaying. 

“It’s a...you’re my close friend and so what if you put up walls they come down to answer.” Megan laughs. She jerks her head to Tobin, blinking with expectant eyes. “Come on, tell me why you’re all asking and such.”

Tobin sucks at her teeth, shoulders hunching as she debated on what to tell Pinoe. Her gut tells her that this is exactly who could talk to her without judgment so she braces herself for the truth. 

“Lindsey saw us talking before the game and she said I was getting all in my head. Knows I put up walls and I can be antisocial...so yeah I’m feeling a bit I don’t know about it all.” She explains while tapping her fingers on the side of her beer bottle. Megan nods, attention back on the game as she speaks. 

“Tobs I’ve been thinking since before the game, about what we talked about. When you were little you didn’t care what team you were on, as long as you played soccer. You were on boys teams right?”

“Yeah…” Tobin says hesitantly, unsure where Megan was heading with this conversation. She figured that was normal. Most girls on the team had played with boys because of a gap in high school teams and club levels in women’s soccer. She had aged out of PDA and needed a space to keep playing. The indoor boys’ 17 team was great.

“You don’t feel attached to being a female athlete, you were never looking for female role models because you didn’t feel like a woman but you don’t even want to be like the male players,” Megan says, testing the waters with where she was going. She watches as Tobin’s eyes widen, and maybe the pieces start to slide into place. “So look I don’t know how much you’ve looked into space between.”

“Between what?” Tobin asks, setting her beer down and her eyes focusing on the soccer game on tv. She knows what Megan is saying and she’s fighting against allowing it. It’s just not a thought she wants to entertain. It’s always made her feel insane like she was going crazy and not to mention against God. If he made her in His image, why would she be something different? Megan takes a swig and laughs. 

“You know. Why haven’t you allowed yourself to step into it--” She says but Tobin glares at her. Brown eyes wide and full of hurt and self-loathing.

“Megan. It’s hard enough being gay, that’s something that my family can grasp but this...what you’re suggesting…” Tobin gets up, walking to her balcony for some fresh air. She leans over the railing, watching the streets below. Megan comes in a few minutes later, her arm around her. Tobin shudders. It’s the thought of disappointing her family again, just years after she had with coming out.

“It’s okay to take baby steps. I’m sorry I pushed. But you know you could be nonbinary, there’s a couple of players Sue plays with and they are still able to play in women’s leagues--”

“I’m not afraid about my job. That’s the last of my problems but the changes and the--everything. Christen? I mean--” 

“What about Christen? She’s bi, right? So that means she’s with a nonbinary lesbian. It’s much more common than you’d think. You don’t have to change anything Tobin. You can keep your pronouns. You just have a label for how you feel now. You don’t have to stick with anything you don’t want to. No one has to know. I just...you were struggling with this line and now I get it. We’re going unisex, gender non confirming. It’s about comfort over presentation. I see that now.”

Tobin feels like a weight has been lifted off of her chest at Pinoe’s words. She stares out into the dusk surrounding Portland, and the clouds covering Mt. Hood. Her hands are shaking with relief, her breath exhaling and rattling her lungs. 

“Thank you.” She whispers to Pinoe as the pink-haired woman holds her close. 

*

Telling Christen was not as hard as Tobin expected to be. They lay in bed on a lazy Sunday, before a Utah/ Portland game. Tobin has her head nuzzled up against Christen’s dark chest, hiding from the rising sun through her curtains. Christen has her hands running through Tobin’s long hair, running her hand down her bareback. 

“Chris…” Tobin starts, mumbling into her skin gently. Christen sighs, pulling Tobin closer. 

“Hmm? Babe...what is it?” She asks, kissing the older woman’s forehead delicately. 

“Would you still want me if I weren't a woman?” Tobin mumbles, closing her eyes tightly as she feels Christen pull back from her and sit up. “Fuck...fuck...shouldn’t have…”

Christen pulls the sheets up between them, forcing Tobin to open at least one amber brown eye. She’s frowning, her brows creased. 

“Tobin, I don’t know why you’re asking me this.” She says softly, firmly. Tobin bites down on her lip, taking a deep breath. 

“The decision we made for Re. The unisex label it’s...for me. For people like me who don’t belong. They don’t like the boxes or the labels. I don’t feel like a woman. Well sometimes I do. But most of the time I’m disconnected from the feminine experience. That’s not just me being gay or a tomboy. I genuinely don’t feel comfortable in a body defined as a woman. But I am attracted to women. But myself as one...I don’t feel it.” Tobin explains, letting herself ramble through it because it was getting her feelings out. 

Christen puts a hand to her chest. “Slow down. This is a lot. Tobin...you don’t have to be one thing or another and I’m sorry I was being rough about that with Re. I’m not attracted to you for looks alone.” She brings Tobin’s hand to her mouth for small kisses, stroking the inside of her thumb gently. “This is what you wrote about—the day I read your journal right? The way that it made you feel, your disconnect with femininity—I should have seen it.” 

Tobin nods slightly, still feeling her chest tighten at the possibility of Christen being put off by all of it. She knows it’s not logical, but when has her mind ever truly been one for logic? 

“Megan talked to me the other week before we smoothed things out. I mean I guess I knew it’s existed but I never really dig deep into that part of our trans siblings...that’s on me. But I told her how I felt about the line and then she explained that there’s people that feel the way I do. Neither. It was here and there. I mean I never was attached to the female athlete thing, which is why She Believes always was hard picking role models. I didn’t care about the men either though. I don't want to be one. But I think I exist somewhere between either or?”

Christen’s face softens at her partner's words and she traces her fingers down her back, humming in acknowledgment. “Mm so like nonbinary?” She asks. 

Tobin frowns, shaking her head. “I don’t really think I want to label it. Not for myself anyway. I mean, I’m never going to be separated from female identity in work. I don’t feel like changing pronouns either- it doesn’t make me uncomfortable. I just feel like the way I express myself is outside of the traditional gender stuff. Which is why Re probably makes more sense to you now.”

“I’m sorry I pushed so hard before with everything. I love you Tobin, and that means all of you and what you feel. I’m proud of you for having this convo with Megan too. You’re who you are, and no one gets to define that for you. You’re free to be you.”


	2. Re-imagine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all started with an earnest suggestion. And Tobin knows that she can’t fault Christen for that, after all, she really was trying to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi bear with me I’ve been working on this for about a month. First off huge thanks to @DODO24 because they pushed me into discovering the euphoria of packing with their fic! So I wanted to explore that euphoria in this fic! Secondly this is all au (except they still play soccer) so don’t like don’t read. Tw there are some transphobic comments made in this inadvertently. Please be kind to yourself.

It was all one huge mistake. At least that’s what Tobin told herself as she looked up from her feet for the first time since the dreaded question of “What the hell is that Toby?” popped out of Kristie’s stupid mouth. (Tobin’s sure upon introspection that it didn’t mean to feel so abrasive). 

She could feel the shame swirling inside her like a typhoon, ready to strike at any moment with hot tears. Tears that Tobin knows will drench her face and let sticky snot roll down her lips if she lets them out. 

For a space that Tobin once felt was her sanctuary, a place where God listened to her and spoke to her, the national team locker room felt more and more like a circle of hell. 

-

It all started with an earnest suggestion. And Tobin knows that she can’t fault Christen for that, after all, she really was trying to help. 

Tobin had been packing for camp lazily shoving everything she could from her drawers into the team USA luggage. In honesty, they didn’t need much because US Soccer brings in their jerseys and some warm-up gear. Tobin just needed PJs, loungewear, ice bath spandex or swim trunks, and her underwear. This is precisely what Christen caught her dumping into the luggage. Her underwear drawer. 

“Oh wow? You’re taking it to camp?” She says in a quiet surprise, lifting her own black luggage onto the bed. It’s partially filled with a divider for each of her categories of clothing and a slot for some of her cleats. 

Tobin raises her head, knitting her brows together in confusion at the statement. Bringing what to camp? She wonders and glances over her pile. A flash of nude-colored skin meets her brown-eyed gaze and then the heat rises. 

“Shit ah uh nope.” Tobin reaches in for the packer, placing it inside a small black bag for safekeeping, and hastily closes the drawer. She turns back to see her wife with another arched brow. Christen reaches for Tobin’s hand, squeezing gently. 

“It’s okay if that wasn’t a mistake you know—”

“But it was. Thanks, I just...you know I don’t like mixing that,” Tobin gestures with an awkward wave at the now-closed dresser drawer and then her soccer luggage. 

She didn’t want to mix them. In Tobin’s mind, she had so many different iterations of herself and she did not dare mix them almost as if they were oil and acrylic paints. Too different, too bizarre. 

For her soccer was both God’s gift to her and her gift to the world, she didn’t want to muck that up by changing who the world knew her as because Tobin figures that’s still her: Every time she goes on that pitch, it’s just her and God and the ball. Whoever she may be. 

Her other-self. The one that wore sports bras just a little too tight, boxers and packers, and craved a space to be reborn was all for outside of soccer. That’s for the downtown people. Her wife. Her therapist. Not consumption by those who knew her public persona.

“Tobin, didn’t we talk about how separation can hurt?” Christen ponders gently as she folds a pair of spandex for ice baths and swimming. Her fingertips run over the inner seam a few times as she hears Tobin’s sharp intake of breath. 

The forward sat down on their bed with her face in her hands. She had been fighting the feeling of failure with her therapy ever since her therapist talked about needing to merge. Just a bit by bit. The packer itself had been a gift from Christen. As the winger sought therapy for her gender identity, she needed a space besides God, her journal, and Christen to hear her thoughts. That’s where therapy came into play, and soon Christen was joining her at appointments when she could in Portland. The packing came after one therapy session opened Tobin up to how she felt like her body was missing something. That missing something was helped with the weight of the packer between her thighs. It wasn’t necessarily about the phallic nature, and Christen could see that Tobin stopped hunching over when she wore it. She stood tall and confident, a small bulge in her jeans. But she wouldn’t dare wear it with her sports clothes. Not even a pair of shorts she had played in. 

“What if I get fouled and it falls out and everyone sees,” Tobin says with a slight whine. She’s frustrated at this conversation and it’s barely even started. Christen lets out a musical laugh at the suggestion but Tobin doesn’t find it funny. “I’m serious Chris!”

Christen gently moves over, dropping the pair of jeans she had been folding to the side. She cups Tobin’s chin in her warm hands, eye to eye with her wife. “Tobin,” Christen starts softly, staring into deep amber eyes full of fear. “First off, baby, you don’t have to wear it in an actual game that’s not what I’m saying even though-- you and I both know you have secure boxers and spandex to cover it. I’m saying to just bring it with you. For breakfasts and dinners. For coffee runs and when you’re in our room together. I want you to feel like yourself at camp Tobs.”

Christen is so gentle with Tobin that the other woman is nearly sniffling. She’s blinking her eyes and pulls away with a deep breath. “I wish I could be who you want me to be,” Tobin murmurs, getting up from the bed and Christen’s arms. Christen reaches for Tobin immediately, grabbing her arm. 

“But don’t you want to be who you are? I don’t think you’re a coward Tobin. I don’t.” Christen retorts, moving closer to Tobin. She lets go of her arm and crosses her own across her chest. “I think that you’re purposefully hurting yourself by not taking a chance. Because you are so used to living in pain and discomfort.” 

The words cut through Tobin like a knife and suddenly her pouting lower lip is quivering. She bites on it, gulping. In an act of what seems to be spite, she finds herself grabbing the packer and putting it back in the suitcase between lumps of clothing. Christen’s eyes grow wide at the sight but she says nothing, going back to packing. Tobin’s made her choice. 

-

So Tobin brought it to camp. And to be honest? Things were smooth sailing. Besides a knowing wink from TSA who thought it was a strap-on (which made Tobin wonder if she ever could-) no one else had noticed. But really who goes around staring at someone’s crotch? That’s weird. Tobin wore it to breakfasts and dinners with no problem, under sweats and jeans. She wore it out to get coffee with Pinoe. And on days off with Christen in their bedroom. Wore it in boxers with no pants on just to live a little, no one ever disturbed them on days off. 

The packer had in a way changed their sex life too. It wasn’t uncommon for Tobin to feel a sense of euphoria while wearing it, which often upped her libido. It wasn’t uncommon for them to both use a strap-on in their relationship previously. Nor did Tobin absolutely have to wear it now. Packers are softer than hard, not the firmest for sex as they’re not necessarily needed to be. But on days where she felt confident, she liked having the harder appendage. 

“Babe—I — love —you,” Christen gasps between heated kisses, “but we’re gonna be late for conditioning.” She gently taps Tobin’s upper chest, watching her pull away. 

“Damnit!” Tobin agrees as she peels herself away and slides on her shorts and tank. “If we’re the last ones there he’s gonna make us do extra laps!” 

They hurriedly race towards the door, grabbing just a spare bag of changing clothes on their way to the golf carts that would take them to practice down the street. 

Tobin settles down on the thick leather seat and then realizes. She’s still got her packer on. Her face blossoms with heat. This was not part of the plan of bringing it to camp. Christen’s next to her, fanning herself in the heavy Florida humidity and muttering about having left her curls out. Tobin hopes it just looks like she’s having heatstroke instead of panicking constantly. 

The pitch is already full of their teammates warming up for pacers but if Christen’s counting correctly, they’re not the late ones today. 

“Geez you two cut it close,” Becky warns as she adjusts her headband. “Lucky that Rose and Mal are taking forever.” 

“Would have been here earlier if it weren’t for—” Christen jerks a thumb at Tobin playfully, seeing it annoy her. 

“Hey! You’re the one who was spending hours deciding on not doing your hair!” Tobin talks back with a tongue poking out at her. Becky rolls her eyes at the two of them and heads to the bench where everyone was gathering. 

In the midst of it all, Tobin really forgets she’s wearing the packer. She’s running some of her fastest times on pacers. Converting faster for higher goal ratios in group games. Even hitting a few headers since she isn’t hunched over as much. She feels whole somehow. Just because of some silicone in her underwear, who knew? 

Sweat is pouring down her back as she breaks to grab a rehydration drink from the trainer. The humidity is starting to create glistening streams of sweat from each player. There aren’t enough hand towels to keep it at bay. 

“Okay! Okay, it’s getting too sticky here yes? I want ice baths! Get your muscles ready. It will feel good!” Vlatko chirps from the sidelines as she reads over his little notepad. 

The team breaks out in resigned sighs knowing they needed to as part of recovery. 

“Literally hate ice baths. I feel like my nipples could cut through my bra during them.” Mal says casually to Sam as they walk together towards the locker room. Sam’s eyes grow wide. 

“Can they  _ do _ that?” 

Christen waits quietly for Tobin to gather her boot bag and some recovery materials from her team doctor. She was going hard doing training and it always seemed like they wanted her to prevent injuries before they happened. She gets an ankle joint flex sleeve, a splint for elevating, and then some stern reminders to hydrate. 

“What did she say about the ankle, love?” Christen asks tenderly as she reaches for the splint to make carrying easier for Tobin. 

“She suggests a walking boot in a week if I’m still sore. Which sucks but like could be worse. I dunno, I don’t wanna strain it.” Tobin explains through her mumbles. She sighs at the flex sleeve and her water bottle while she gets up to head into the locker room. They walk down the short hall and into their spots. 

The rest of the team had arrived from practice, flinging dirty tops into the laundry and getting ready for ice baths. Mal is holding a white towel to her waist as she leans against the locker next to Sophia, who’s changing into a spandex bottom with a cropped top. Neither seem thrilled. 

Tobin walks to her space next to Rose and Kristie. She doesn’t mind the noise of the team. It’s what she’s grown up around for sure. Tobin slips into her usual routine. She kicks off her slides, rolls off her socks, and pulls out a tank top and her swim spandex reluctantly. The winger holds the fabric in her hands with a soft sigh of resignation. She hates them. She really does. She hates the tight fabric, how it reveals all of her curves, and spaces she doesn’t want to be seen by the world.

“Do you need KT tape for your leg?” Rose offers kindly with a roll open, gesturing at Tobin. The pale freckle-faced player knew that the winger had hurt herself before coming to camp, and had her own myriad of thigh injuries to worry about. Tobin shakes her head with a shrug.

“Nah. Doc suggested a splint and some flex sleeves. Thanks though Rosie.” Tobin replies while deciding which sports bra to wear to the baths. Kristie is beside her, turning up the music on her phone to get everyone pumped before the ice baths. They’re mostly dancing around and having fun. Crystal is across from Kristie and up on the bench dancing her heart out to the beats. Pinoe is joining her in a much less dignified way, but neither could care less about the lack of rhythm. 

Tobin changes her top, ignoring the red marks under her chest where the bra, maybe one or two sizes too small had dug in. She discards the sports bra in the washing bag she brought and then throws on a charcoal gray sports bra that’s so old the logo has rubbed off. It’s best to use a random top for the ice bath anyway. 

She pulls down her boxers to a low whistle from the locker next to her. 

“What the hell is that Toby?” 

**_fuck_ ** . 

Tobin had completely forgotten she wore the packer during practice today and it’s inside her boxers on the floor right now. Her face immediately turns crimson. The music stops. Suddenly everything was too much.

**_Fuck!_ ** Tobin didn’t know what to do. How to tell them anything. The last thing she needed was this to happen. Christen walks by the small crowd on her way to the ice baths. She drops her bag to the ground, running to Tobin’s side. 

“Wait is that- did you fuck Press in the bathroom earlier? Is that why you’re late?” 

Tobin can’t breathe. She hunches over, feeling Christen move to cover her lower half with a towel for the time being. Her mind hardly recognizes it though, faces starting to blur. The terry cloth brushes against her burning skin like a moth fluttering around a flame. It’s distant. 

“I want everyone out.” Christen grits out as she faces the locker room with dark steely eyes. She can feel the blood rushing to her cheeks as her anger builds at the utter humiliation Tobin was suffering.  _ How dare they treat her like this. How dare they traumatize her _ . 

“Chris, we get it you’re kinky—” 

“Just don’t forget about it next time. We’ve all been there!” 

**“ENOUGH!”** Christen shouts, breathing through her nose harshly. She can’t fathom a way to even address this but she has to. For Tobin. Poor trembling Tobin who hasn’t moved an inch since a towel was draped over her lower half. 

The locker room stills. The laughs stop. Each player pauses, stepping forward from their lockers. A pin drop could echo in the silence. A sniffle rises, echoes in the room. It’s Tobin. Tears are dripping down her face and collecting on the tiled floor at her feet. She wants to bolt. To run away. To die even. 

Christen is biting her tongue. She can’t say it. Not without Tobin’s permission which feels like a long shot. She can not even dare to out Tobin’s identity. That’s not fair. A wave of guilt crashes into Christen as she realizes that she pushed Tobin to bring the packer in the first place. 

“I am so sorry.” It’s a whispered apology and one that Christen knows Tobin can hardly hear. Each player is standing with bated breath, expecting an explanation. The younger ones like Rose open their mouths only to swallow the question like a frog would, a fly. “It’s not up to me to explain it to you. But it is up to you, to not treat Tobin differently because of this.” 

Confusion spreads across most faces. Pinoe is not who ‘most people’ means in the slightest. She steps closer, like approaching a wounded animal. Tobin was a deer in the headlights. Too scared to move, too frozen to even breathe. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Pinoe places a soft hand on Tobin’s shoulder, stroking a piece of hair behind an ear. She’s smaller, more down to earth than before. Brown eyes soften, gazing over the frightened winger. “Tobes? Is there something we should know?” 

Tobin can’t bear it any longer. She turns to face Pinoe, sliding up the spandex under her towel. She reaches down for her underwear, taking out the packer and placing it in a small cloth bag so she could clean it. 

“I never—I didn’t want to mix this with football.” Tobin says with a scratchy voice. Her throat is dry, her teeth worrying into the chapped divots of her lips. “I was perfectly fine keeping it separate. What you all saw was a packer.” 

Tobin feels like she’s going to vomit seeing the confusion cloud her teammates faces. She wants to run away but Christen’s warm hand on her back keeps her steady and grounded. Pinoe’s brow furrows as she tries to piece it together. She’s not a walking lgbtq+ encyclopedia as much as she seems to be. 

Tobin looks down at the floor, feeling that same redness creep up her cheeks like a spider returning to its web. “Uh yeah so I’m not—not a woman. I mean— I am! But I’m also not. I really discovered who I am when we made Re-inc and I realized that I don’t conform to gender and all that. And part of that is wearing a packer on days where I feel more masculine. That’s it. I never meant to mix it with football and I’m never going to wear it in a locker room again. So just act like you never saw me for the freak I am.” 

Christen gasps, her hand pulling away from Tobin’s back like fire. Sweat curled strands of hair frame Tobin’s face like tendrils of soft ivy. She brushes it away gently. 

“Tobin— you’re not,” Christen finds herself shaking as she tries to comfort her partner, her jaw clenched with anger. She was angry at the world that decided for Tobin what she is. 

“Oh give me a  _ break _ Chris—” Tobin’s voice cracks. 

“You aren’t a freak.” Megan completes the sentence, stepping forward. She sits on the bench facing Tobin and shakes her head. “I’m sorry you’ve been pushed away from us, and I’m sorry that you feel like an outsider.”

Megan of course had already known on a smaller level since that conversation at Tobin’s apartment. But she never pushed for prodded for more. Though what was rising up in Pinoe’s mind was that she should have been more proactive on making sure Tobin felt welcomed at camp. She knows things like this slip through the cracks but it can push back how far someone is in their journey of discovery. 

“Tobin.” Becky steps forward with a calm expression. She slides her arm around Tobin’s shoulder with a gentle ease. “We’re a team, and that team will never exclude you for who you are. We love you,” 

Tobin actually finds herself melting in Becky’s warmth, feeling her dread start to sweat through her skin as her mind releases it. Becky is someone who’s seen Tobin in all iterations of herself. From her call ups as a bow legged teen to becoming a woman, to loving women, and now. 

“Can’t pretend to get something I’ll never know, but Tobes we’re here for you.” 

Ali’s hug came gently after Becky’s with a small shoulder squeeze. Tobin swayed back and forth on her toes still feeling the effects of being overexposed. She makes her way towards the exit and into the recovery ice bath areas. 

As the door closes on Tobin’s exit, curious eyes go to Christen. They all start to fumble back around with their clothes, getting ready to join Tobin in the ice baths. As they move along the conversations start bubbling up again. Christen changes, pulling on a simple pair of black spandex and a dark blue sports bra. She passes by the row holding Kelley and Sam, hearing the former talking about Tobin. 

“So you think that Tobin will be removed from equal pay since you know—-”

“No, I don’t know Kelley, enlighten me.” Christen snaps as she turns on her heel to face the freckled defender. Kelley’s brows knit as she watches Christen’s expression turn from shock to anger. 

“I’m just having a joke, teasing around Pressi. Lighten up!” Kelley says flippantly, turning back to her locker and making sure her wallet is secure inside. Christen steps forward, shaking her head. Sam has already ducked out of the situation, shaking her head with an exasperated sigh at Kelley. She has no intention of being involved in escalating conflict. 

“No one is laughing Kelley.” Christen states, pulling herself up to her full height to look down at the older woman. The rest of the locker room chatter died down again. Half joined Tobin already in the ice baths, half still fumbling with lockers and sweaty clothes. 

Kelley has pink on her cheeks, an admonished look on her face as though she were fighting with the embarrassment of being called on her behavior.

Christen shakes her head with a sigh, “Tobin has been your friend since you were children Kels, you can’t just throw her under the bus like this and parade around like you’ve done nothing.” 

Kelley licks her lips, hazel eyes staring straight into green as memories of college flutter through each of their minds. “She had a fake dick Chris. Listen, it’s weird! Is she even a lesbian anymore? Because dude that was nasty looking, dicks are gross and—”

The rambling cut off as soon as the sound of skin on skin echoed around the locker room. Christen had smacked Kelley across the jaw with an open palm, shaking in anger. Her nostrils flare as Ashlyn steps between them. 

“Pressi, back down.” The keeper says firmly with two hands on Christen’s wrists. “I know she’s being an asshole, but you don’t need to fight for Tobin. I promise you. Deep breaths Chris, okay?”

Of all people to diffuse a situation, Ashlyn Harris is not always the first to come to mind. But the advantage of being a keeper is in muscles, holding each player back from causing themselves more trouble. Alyssa walks up to Kelley, grabbing her shoulder and nudging her to the benches in the corner. 

“You know I’m just disappointed in you Kelley.” The usually silent keeper says as she deposits Kelley in a corner like a child on timeout. Kelley crosses her arms, glaring at the wall. “You remember how long it took for Tobin to come out to us? Remember how closed off she was for years in the closet? She’s been through everything with us, and you’re throwing it away because she’s still discovering herself? I thought you were better than this.” 

Alyssa speaks quietly, fumbling with the athletic wrap around her wrists. She, like Kelley, has known Tobin since youth US call ups around age 13. The two were closer than others expected, bonding over books and the Bible often at camp. Tobin had a streak of extroversion that Alyssa needed to come out of her shell, and the keeper would always be thankful for that along with her loyalty. 

Meanwhile Ashlyn walked through deep breathing with Christen before letting her walk out to the ice baths and recovery. She sighs, knowing that this incident had to make its way back to Vlatko but also not wanting Tobin to have to out herself before she’s ready. 

-

Tobin makes her way from the ice bath, standing up and pulling a towel around her middle. Every one of her nerves felt on edge. Constantly awaiting a comment, a snark, or a giggle in the wrong way. Even with the accepting ways of the team, Tobin knew she couldn’t count on everyone being so kind. The expectation of being disliked came at a much higher rate than acceptance ever did. 

“Hi.” Christen’s gentle voice breaks Tobin out of her own mind as she steps into the ice bath. The hiss rolls off her tongue like a prayer, green eyes closing in a jolt of pain as ice shocks through her muscles. 

Tobin kisses her forehead softly, squeezing her shoulder with one hand. “Seems like we missed each other. I’m going to the room...lemme know if you want anything before dinner.” 

Christen takes a deep breath in, with a shaky exhale. Her hand still blooming red from the slap, stinging as the water sloshes against it in the kiddie pool. 

“Wait.”

Tobin pauses mid stride, turning back to Christen. She pushes her long hair back, tilting her head at the striker. 

“Chris? What’s going on?” 

“Press. Heath. Up and to my office. Now.” 

Both players were startled by Vlatko’s firm tone laced with disappointment. They both grab towels and hurry to follow Vlatko back to his office, where the couch was already full of Kelley. 

The gray haired Macedonian sits down in his chair after closing the door behind all of them. He clasps his hands together, brows raised as he waits for an explanation. 

“Go on. Ah why don’t you tell me about the slapping.” Vlatko asks, launching straight into it. He’s never been a guy to really wait around for answers anyway. 

Each player looks around at each other with a sense of confusion. Christen moves to speak after a moment of prolonged awkward silence. 

“I slapped Kelley, and it was wrong. I should never let my emotions take over me like that, especially not towards a teammate. Regardless of anything we’re teammates above all, and we have to treat each other better than that. I’m sorry.” Christen essentially punishes herself for Vlatko, outlining her own mistake for him. She sits tall with her chin out forward, not daring to hide behind what happened. 

Vlatko nods as he rubs his temples. This was looking decent. “Erm so ah what was this all about? And Tobin’s involvement?” He asks innocently. The color drains from Tobin’s face and she beats Christen to the punch of explaining it elaborately. 

“Hey coach? So uh funny story actually, but I am in the process of something kind of personal. With regards to gender. And Kelley made an offhand comment…” Tobin awkwardly explains as Christen watches her with wide eyes. Vlatko’s brow furrows as he tries to piece together what’s going on. 

Kelley, the guilty party in all of this, leans back on her arms and looks over to Tobin. She shakes her head at herself for being an asshole. 

“Toby...I fucked up. I keep fucking up actually. And you don’t deserve that. I think that things are changing and I have to let them change, for a better future, and I-”

“Save it. Just realize before you hurt someone that isn’t as secure as me. And no, I don’t even want to know what you said or did. Pissing off Chris is enough to know.” Tobin replies bluntly, looking back over to Vlatko who’s scratching notes on a pad of paper. 

“This won’t leave the room. I know you’re adults. I know you can work this out. And Tobin,” Vlatko says softly, getting out of his chair to open the door for all three of them. “Let me know what I can do to help you. If it comes down to ah what’s the term, the nouns...pronouns! I just want to make sure you’re okay. You’re a great player, no matter what.” He squeezes Tobin’s shoulder gently as they head out. 

-

“I can’t believe you slapped Kelley.” Tobin says while Christen shucks off her shoes at the door of their hotel room. She’s laying back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Christen comes to her side, kissing her cheek. 

“She...what she said was foul. I couldn’t...I love you so much Tobin and what came over me was so intense. I didn’t even know I did it until I felt the sting.” Christen murmurs, curling herself up beside Tobin. They lay in silence on the bed for minutes that feel like hours. 

Tobin gently pushes back a strand of Christen’s curls and smiles. A sad soft smile etched with years of uncertainty behind those amber eyes. “I think we underestimate the power behind love and what it can do. I love you, and I’m really proud that you convinced me to bring the packer to camp. Before the locker room I felt so much like myself and I could pull my shoulders up proudly with who I am.”

Christen presses her lips to Tobin’s in a warm peck, teasing against her weathered lips. 

“That was all you.” 

Three months later they’re hovering over the refresh button on their website with hesitation coursing through their veins. After another glass of champagne, Christen presses down on Tobin’s hand to refresh the page with a click. 

In bold black lettering came “Re-imagine identity collection: a fashion line meant to reconstruct the boundaries of gender. Offering binders, packers, breast forms & inserts along with boxers, bras, and undershirts. For all bodies. For who you are now. For who you’re meant to be. And who you might be in the future.”

Tobin sighs in relief, feeling the re-imagine packer shift against her as her hips move. This was the start of something new. 


End file.
